


A Bad Place

by Abitscrewy



Series: Dragon Age Drabbles [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cole Doesn't like the western approach, Drabble, Dragon Age: Asunder spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, One Shot, Post-Book: Dragon Age - Asunder, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, Short One Shot, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Western Approach, bad memories, the author is an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 19:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abitscrewy/pseuds/Abitscrewy
Summary: Cole laments the knowledge that he will soon have to return to Adamant Fortress.





	A Bad Place

The Western Approach still perplexes him. The first time he came here he was alone and following Rhys and his friends, though Cole had suspected the Templar to be dangerous to his friend. He had to follow them and he didn’t know why. He still doesn’t, but he doesn’t regret it.

He’s come back with the Inquisition now, fighting Venatori and bandits and enough Hyenas to supply a feast, as Dorian had put it. He’s been woken up by Varric or the Inquisitor several nights now, informed that he’d been making noises in his sleep. It’s odd, he only needs sleep when he does a lot. Fighting or walking all day does take a lot out of him. His words don’t seem to quell the worries in his friends, but it’s sort of nice to know they do worry for him.

Cole doesn’t know how it’s possible for a spirit to dream, but he’s more than a spirit. He’s asked Solas about it, but he also lacks an answer. He’d never met a spirit like Cole before and thus has no prior experience in this particular area. Cole thanked him anyway. Solas always seems more worried for him than the others were. 

He dreamed of empty things- Darkspawn, he reminds himself. A fitting name he thinks. They drag themselves from the dark, everything inside tangled up and torn apart from this world. A disease. The Western Approach is home to a great divide. A split in the ground, a wound on the world. He dreams of a horrid song, one that tries to drag him down into the abyss with them, fading into the black-pit eyes of the Darkspawn. 

“Cole..? Are you alright?”

Cole still flinches when people touch him, when they acknowledge his words or presence or when they smile at him sympathetically. None of them can empathize but they try to be kind anyhow. The Inquisitor is no different. Lanse Lavellan, headstrong but kind, wit as sharp as his arrows. Cole was always fascinated by the elves’ markings, and why the ones without were so odd about the ones who had them.

His train of thought is halted when Lanse asks again.  
“Cole?”

“Yes?” Cole responds this time, a small meek voice to match his thin fragile form. His eyes can’t seem to move away from the far-off fortress of Adamant. He can still hear the song that crackles beneath it like a ringing in his ear. He worries at his lip, trying to pull himself out of all the bad memories there. Both ones he was a part of and the ones he felt around him when he was there.

“I asked if you are alright, you’ve been staring for nearly an hour,” Lanse looks out, trying to figure out what exactly the young man is staring at. “Is it the fortress? We’re not ready to go out there yet, but we’ll have to at some point…”

Cole grits his teeth and his hands stop their idle fidgeting. Lanse internally cringes, he can never tell what might upset this guy. The blond shakes his head, finally tearing his eyes away and turning around. He pushes the song away, as far from his head as he can. It will come back in the night, he’ll deal with it then.

“It will not be good… Layers of pain paint that place, from the towers to the tombs, unplanned under the sand,” he shakes himself, holding his arms. “It should be burned. Torn down, untethered, it should fall into the wound where the dark creatures wait,”

Lanse can see he’s opened something up that he was not prepared for. He scratches his scalp in thought, looking back out at the fortress. If Cole thinks it’s that bad, then they should try to prepare as much as they can before they go out there. He’d absolutely love to avoid somewhere that rings that unsoundly in who he considers a spiritual compass of sorts, but that is not an option here.

“Demons will be there. Many of them. Old and new. There were so many waiting in the Fade, eager for it to pull them out into the world, tear the veil to tatters…” Cole’s fidgeting comes back in force, shuffling his feet and rubbing his arms as if he were freezing.

“There was a girl in the floor. I can’t remember her name, but she cried when I said I wouldn’t kill her. The Templars helped her, but the rest…” Cole shakes his head. “That’s where the demon showed me... Unbidden things uncovered the bad day. Concealed in a cupboard until Rhys and Evangeline found me… Found us,” he wipes his eyes and takes a shaken breath.  
“I needed her to be _quiet_…”

Lanse takes a deep breath and sets his hands on his hips, a befuddled expression on his face. Maker, he’d love to have a conversation with this kid that didn’t feel so foreboding. Perhaps tea or a game of Wicked Grace. He makes a note to tell Varric to invite him the next time they all have a group game. He exhales and runs a hand through his dark hair, eyes wide but brows furrowed. He sets a hand back on Cole’s shoulder awkwardly.

“Well, shit, Cole.”


End file.
